


Save John Watson

by fantasybean



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hurt!John, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1209199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasybean/pseuds/fantasybean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commission by Felicia: John gets kidnapped when he is mistaken for Sherlock. Mycroft can't help but get involved, but is it for Sherlock or for himself that he does this?<br/>(I am really bad at writing summaries, but this fic involves Mycroft/John, kidnapping and minor violence.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scooby-Doo references

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeliciaHM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeliciaHM/gifts).



Sherlock and John approached the block of offices quietly, guns drawn. It was midnight, the building and car park surrounding was abandoned, all they could hear was the gravel beneath their feet.

They pushed open the fire door at the side of the building and John pulled out a torch and flicked it on. His whole body was tense, but his hands were steady, one gripping the torch and one holding his gun.

He shined the light around the room; it was really quite plain, a reception area, lifts, stairways, nothing special.

“Are you sure this is where he hid all that money?” John asked.

“Yes, John, nobody would be so stupid as to take fifty thousand pounds to work and leave it there, that’s what they know. So it’s reverse psychology. He left it here, thinking we wouldn’t be so stupid as to consider this a hiding place.” Sherlock explained quietly.

“Right… okay.” John took it in “So where is it?” he asked.

“Let’s split up and-“John cut Sherlock off with a giggle and added “-look for clues? What is this, Scooby-Doo?”

Sherlock stared at John blankly.

“Oh for goodness… forget it.” John sighed and shook his head; of course _Sherlock_ wouldn’t get the reference.

“You check the top fifteen floors, I’ll check the bottom.” Sherlock said as they ascended the stairs “And we’ll meet back in the reception area in… an hour?”

John nodded “Gotcha.”

They both pocketed their guns, seeing and hearing no threat, and Sherlock pulled out his torch from his own pocket and they both, along with their torches held in front of them, went their separate ways.

John searched through all of the draws and desks, all the nooks and crannies, but nothing, not one measly ten pound note. He was five floors from the top of the building when his torch flickered off.

“Shit.” He grumbled and tried tapping it and turning it off and on again to get it to work. He tried flicking the light switches in the building on but that was hopeless anyway, all the power was off.

He dragged his hand along the wall to find his way out of the office and to the stairs; he slowly made his way downstairs to find Sherlock. He heard some footsteps coming up the stairs.

He felt relief flood him, Sherlock must have finished early and he wouldn’t even have to look for the slinky detective.

“You won’t believe what happened to me, five floors from the top and my torch goes out. Typical!” John said as he heard the steps only a floor below where he stood waiting.

He frowned when he listened a little closer, Sherlock would normally have something to say, a little comment about his idiocy of not being able to judge battery-life or something. And the footsteps… Sherlock’s shoes didn’t sound like boots… come to think of it, they didn’t sound like two people…

He looked up the stairs and then down. He could only just see, but a small light was getting closer, whoever was coming had a torch, perhaps it was a security guard… but Sherlock had said this place would be empty.

John started walking back up the stairs. He’d just have to hide. His steps quickened as the steps behind him did and he felt his heart thudding faster. Where was the bloody door?

He put his hands out and pushed open the door and jogged into the office, he found a table and hid under it, trying to calm his breathing and not be heard.

“He definitely came in here, the door was swinging.” He heard a young man say.

“Come out, come out wherever you are.” Another, older and more patronising voice said, he saw the torchlight on the floor a few desks away. He curled up tight and practically held his breath. This wasn’t a security guard or anyone just here to check the building. They knew it was being searched for the money.

The light got closer and closer. John’s only thought was shit-shit-shit-shit-shit. Sherlock always complained that there was such a variety of vocabulary that one can use that is just replaced with over-used and over-all meaningless swear-words, but John couldn’t help it, shit-shit-shit-motherfucking-shit. He couldn’t get out and run, he could barely see and this was a maze of desks and chairs. He just had to stay curled up and hope to whatever higher power existed that they didn’t find him.

The light touched his shoes and he resisted the urge to screw up his eyes and grimace.

The light went away and then went back to his shoes, and kept searching for who it was looking for. And then it went to his knees and he heard an exclamation of happiness from whomever was looking for him. John made a decision on the spot, uncurled himself, jumped up-narrowly missing his head on the edge of the table-and he ran, trying to scoot around the tables. But the men with the torch were quicker, and they could see exactly where they were going, they caught up with John and both were bigger than him-though he knew that meant nothing. They grabbed a shoulder each and pulled him back, John spun around and started to hit out but they grabbed his arms and the elder of the two kicked the back of his knees and his legs buckled.

“Who… who are you?” John asked breathlessly as they shined a torch in his face and he squinted.

“Underdogs, Mr Holmes, don’t you worry about us. What you need to worry yourself about is who we’re working for.” Before John could correct them on his identity he had his nose and mouth covered by a foul-smelling cloth, and another hand was holding his head in place, he struggled but it was useless, he felt weaker and weaker and slowly he fell into blackness.

“Easier than I thought he’d be.” The elder man said and picked John up and the two made their way outside to the van and drove away, their kidnapped man lying across the back seats, his hands handcuffed around his back and his feet tied together with a shoe-lace. He was fast asleep but had a frown etched into his features.

* * *

 

Sherlock walked downstairs to the reception area, a little disgruntled that he hadn’t found the money, but he felt sure that John must have.

He sat on the receptionist’s chair and put his feet on the desk, reclining and relaxing, waiting for John.

After ten minutes he checked his watch and tutted, John should know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting. He got up and started climbing up the stairs, popping his head into every office and calling out for his friend.

“Come on, John, where are you?” he said to himself more than John.

He was at the top floor when he realised John wasn’t there. Maybe he’d taken the other flight of stairs down and they’d missed each other. Sherlock went down the stairs but halted when he saw a scuff mark on the door, fifth floor from the top. He knelt on the floor and brought his torch close, inspecting it. It was definitely John’s shoe that had made the mark. But John wasn’t normally one to use his feet to open a door. Sherlock frowned and opened the door, shone his torch around and he quickly spotted John’s small led torch lying in the middle of the floor, he went over and picked it up and quickly tried to turn it on but with no luck.

A sudden and quite abnormal sensation ran through the genius. He felt anxious and nervous, yet not for himself, for John.

“John?” he called out “John?” a little louder.

He ran through the offices on the floor then down the stairs and outside the building, quickly shining his torch to the floor, the first thing he saw were tire tracks, not tire tracks that had been there before, he recalled. And John and he had walked up to the office block.

“John.” Sherlock said and for the first time in a long time Sherlock Holmes felt quite lonely.


	2. Held Captive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confusion often comes hand in hand with kidnapping. And also anger.

John groaned and opened his eyes, thoroughly relieved that there wasn’t much light around-he had the worst headache, the pounding was insistent and all he wanted to do was shout at Sherlock to get him some pain killers.

“Sherlock!” he shouted, snuggling into his pill… wait, where was his pillow? His eyes opened wide and he put his hands flat on what lay underneath him. It was smooth. He spread his arms out. It wasn’t a bed or table, it must be a floor. He tried to look around but the room was not lit, he could see nothing but light coming through the cracks in the doorway.

Where was he?

“Hello?” he called out and unsteadily rose to his feet, his hands in front of him. He made his way to the door carefully but there was nothing in the way. Once at the door he tried to open it but it was locked, so he tried listening but it was silent. Then he took a chance and knocked.

“Excuse me? Let me out!” he shouted and banged on the door.

He heard footsteps then stepped back and away from the door. It was thrown open and the light pierced his eyes, he drew away and squinted at the person.

“Ah, Mr Holmes. Awake at last. We’ll just get the boss for you.” The man said and left, closing and locking the door behind him.

“I’m not…” his memories from before he woke up came back, he and Sherlock had been searching the building for stolen money and then his torch had blown and then he had been kidnapped. “Fuck” he whispered into the silence.

After checking to see if he had his gun -which he didn’t- he decidedly stood tall while he waited for ‘the boss’, ready for whoever or whatever was coming. He was a soldier, he could deal with this.

The door opened and a confident man walked in, turning a light on as he did, John blinked as his eyes adjusted and watched a bald man who resembled Phil Mitchell off of Eastenders stand in front of him, his eyes searching his body. John noted that the man had muscle, and small electric-blue eyes.

“You idiots.” The man said and John was slightly confused until he realised that the man was talking to the two stood at the door rather than him. “You utter imbeciles! This is not Sherlock Holmes! Do you live under a fucking rock? Have you not seen a single newspaper in your life?” he shouted in a rough London accent, turning on his heel to face the two who now looked particularly nervous.

“We thought that was him!” the older of the two underdogs defended their mistake.

“This is that Watson! Holmes’ little follower! This is so stupid, I ask you to do one simple thing and you screw it up!” he shouted.

“Stop it!” John shouted, unable to contain himself, they all turned to look at him. “Stop it.” He said a little more quietly “Now tell me who you are and why you want Sherlock.”

“Why we want him is none of your concern. Who we are is also none of your business. But I’ll give you the courtesy of giving you our names. I’m Daniel, and that’s old-Tom and Phil.” The boss pointed at the underdogs by the door.

John nodded, relieved for some information at least.

“Now, assuming you have the wrong man, you can let me go.” John said calmly.

Daniel looked at John for a moment and a sparkle suddenly appeared in his eyes, then he huffed a laugh “Oh, this is perfect… just perfect!” he smiled at himself “I think we’ll keep you. You’ll be enough to cause damage. You’re Sherlock Holmes’ keeper, you’ll definitely ruffle a lot of feathers, especially his feathers…” the man nodded as he spoke, proud of his new plan.

“What, Sherlock’s feathers?” John frowned.

“Oh no, not Sherlock’s. Someone else… an irritant to me.” Daniel gave a short smile “Now, don’t you try anything, Doctor Watson. As you can probably tell you’re not exactly in the best position to do anything right now. Just stay nice and well behaved and it’ll be fine.” He smiled and walked out, old-Tom and Phil locking the door behind them all.

John felt anger consume him “You can’t do this! You can’t keep me here! I’m not Sherlock Holmes! You don’t need me! He’ll find me! He will! And when he does you’ll be the one locked up!” he shouted, banging on the door.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, this was great, just great.

He looked up hesitantly to have a proper look at the room he was confined in now the lights were on. It wasn’t small, it was a decent size. But there were no windows, the walls were plain white, and there was nothing but a camp bed with a sheet in the corner. He looked up and saw cameras pointing at him from all four corners. He took the moment to stick two fingers up at the one closest to him and mouthing clearly the words “Fuck You.” to whomever was watching.

John Watson had a temper, anyone who put him in a position that he disliked would come across his temper in some form. He’d learnt to control it with age and experience, and most of the time he was very calm and tolerant, but kidnapping him and locking him up to ‘ruffle some feathers’ was something he did not want or need. And he had no clue what to do. He’d think of something, he had army training, and he’d been living and working with Sherlock Holmes for a few years now, he had learnt a thing or two about working things out, the little things that matter. He could do this. He wasn’t going to be locked up, he was a person, not someone’s property. He was going to get out of this place… wherever he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! Thank you for all the kudos so far!


	3. Challenges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets to work on trying to find John. But not without a little interruption...

Sherlock sat at the living room table, tapping at the keyboard of his laptop, using GPS tracking signals to try and find John. He hadn’t slept, just got straight to work on finding his friend. He’d tried to track John’s mobile but he found it to be in John’s bedroom so that was useless, now he was trying to track the van that had taken John, it wasn’t easy with his minimal technology, he considered moving to a more technologically advanced work base, perhaps Scotland Yard, but he felt it to be a waste of time, he could make do with his laptop and he’d only go off task if he really needed to, getting a taxi to Scotland yard would take him off task for far too long.

As the sun rose Sherlock heard his brother climbing the stairs, umbrella gripped in hand. The man almost marched through the doorway and quickly came to stand beside his brother.

“Sherlock, I would like to offer my services in trying to find John. I feel that we will make greater progress if we work together.” Mycroft said in an almost robotic voice, he sounded so controlled.

“If I needed your help, I would ask for it. Now get out of my sight, I wish to work.” Sherlock said shortly, not looking up from his laptop.

“Brother, don’t be silly now.” Mycroft said sternly.

“I’m not being silly. You are if you believe you aren’t wasting my time. I am trying to find my friend, and you are irritating me and trying to make me lose concentration.” Sherlock snapped.

“I am not, I am trying to help you!” Mycroft exclaimed.

“Help me? Mycroft, the only way you could help me would be to leave me alone to find John. I am a genius, I am a detective, you are only one of those. Now leave this to the professional and get back to sitting on your fat bottom or whatever it is you do all day.” Sherlock said, his voice getting louder and his typing getting angrily faster.

“Sherlock, this is childish! Two great minds are better than one and I have the best resources to help find John. I demand that you allow us to work together to find him. He means a great deal… to you.” Mycroft faltered at the end there.

“What would you know? You’ve never had any real friends, only ones you’ve manipulated into liking you. You don’t know anything, now, I am working, so piss off.” Sherlock said very sharply, glaring at his computer screen.

“Well, if you think you’re so clever, find him yourself with your shoddy laptop and limited resources and leads. I will find John, I just thought it would be quicker if we worked together, that perhaps there would be less… damage…” Mycroft said and left, his umbrella tapping the ground along with his feet, the noise crowding Sherlock’s senses until Mycroft had firmly slammed the door behind him.

Oh, so a challenge? Well if Mycroft thought he was a better detective than Sherlock Holmes, then he must have an extraordinarily distorted opinion of himself, Sherlock felt a determined look cross his face, he was going to get John before Mycroft, before anyone. He would be the one to find his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and I hope you're enjoying!


	4. Childish feuds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Mycroft aren't making any progress in finding John, but can someone help them?

Mycroft had returned only half an hour later with a man quickly setting up a computer for him, it looked big and flash and obviously could do more than Sherlock’s laptop could. The man who set it up left quickly, scurrying away from the tension-filled room, Mycroft took his place opposite his brother and started up his own computer.

“You’re showing off, Mycroft. You could look for John at your own home.” Sherlock said but Mycroft ignored him.

At one o’clock in the afternoon neither of the Holmes brothers were making much headway in finding John Watson. Sherlock had a whole collage of pictures and scribbles pinned to the wall and Mycroft had five different programmes running on his computer at once, all doing different things to find the man.

Neither of the two even faltered when they heard Lestrade’s footsteps on the stairs. The detective inspector stepped inside and stared at the Holmes’. Mycroft had his eyes glued to his computer screen and Sherlock was stood on the sofa, looking at his collage.

“What’s going on?” Lestrade blurted out.

“John has been kidnapped. We are trying to find him.” Mycroft informed him.

“Oh, shit, well that isn’t good at all.” Lestrade frowned, then he stood straight “How can I help?” he asked.

“What?” Sherlock asked, obviously only half paying attention.

“John is my friend, I am a detective inspector, I want to help in any way I can.” Lestrade said firmly.

“Come and assist me here, Detective Inspector.” Mycroft said.

Lestrade helped Mycroft out from then on until half an hour later a new, different pair of steps were heard on the stairs, it was a woman’s.

Mycroft and Sherlock both stiffened where they were and Lestrade gave them both a confused glance.

“Boys.” Came a confidant voice from the doorway, they all turned their attention to her.

She was a… well, a lady. She was about seventy, her white hair tied back in a bun, with one wave loose, she was wearing a lovely and very expensive black dress, she had high cheekbones and Mycroft’s hawk-eye stare.

“Mummy.” Sherlock and Mycroft chorused.

“Mummy?” Lestrade mumbled to himself.

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked.

“I was concerned. Mycroft calls me every day at nine o’clock AM precisely, I did further investigations and found you both to be here, and I know why you are both here, oh no, I have not been sitting idle, I know what both of you are up to all the time. Now, why don’t we stop being silly and work together? As a team you may just be unbeatable. With your strategy and rational mind, Mycroft, and your pure deductive capabilities and forward-thinking, Sherlock, you could achieve great things. Your childish feud has prevented the two of you from achieving what I expected of you as children. Yet you have done well by yourselves. But right now this is about Doctor John Watson, ensuring his safety, and bringing him home. So I want the both of you to stop what you are doing, call a truce, and work together to bring Doctor Watson home, am I understood?” ‘Mummy’ said sternly, looking at her sons with a gaze that only an idiot would challenge.

Mycroft stood up and approached Sherlock, “For John?” he held out a hand.

Sherlock tilted his head to the side at that phrase, but let it go after a moment of thought, and he took his brother’s hand and shook.

Within five minutes Mycroft and Sherlock were calling over to each other, the flat was now filled with intelligent and quick chatter from the geniuses, Lestrade watched them, slightly in awe, they were well on their way to finding where John was.

While Sherlock was sat at the computer tapping away and Mycroft was looking at Sherlock’s collage, Mummy approached her eldest son and put a hand on his arm to get his attention.

“Mummy?” Mycroft asked.

“What is your relation to Doctor Watson?” she asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mycroft frowned.

“I know you, my boy, I can see your upset at his current predicament. Is he your lover?” she asked.

“No!” Mycroft said quickly “No, no…” he said a little more quietly.

“Oh? Then what?” Mummy asked.

Mycroft didn’t give her an answer.

“Do you wish to be his lover?” Mummy questioned.

“I… yes. But don’t tell Sherlock, he’s so possessive. They may not be romantically involved, but he wouldn’t want to share his best friend. And I don’t think John is interested anyway.” Mycroft sighed.

“I told you that I haven’t been idle. Trust me, and when you find him, tell him how you feel.” She said knowingly and went to sit in the kitchen for a cup of tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments so far! Please comment and tell me what you think! Thank you! And I really hope you're enjoying!


	5. Out of control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries to gain some control.

John was awoken rather harshly by the sound of someone whining from behind his door. He frowned from where he lay and stood up, he approached the door and heard “Fuck… ouch… why me, seriously?” a man was talking to himself.

“Hello? Excuse me, what’s wrong?” John asked and knocked on the door, despite the fact that this man was assisting in his captivity, John was a doctor first and he couldn’t help but instinctively need to ensure that people were well. And this guard wasn’t who had ordered his imprisonment, he was just a middle-man.

“I’m… fuck, I’m not fine, I’ve cut my hand on some old nail sticking out of the wall and I can’t leave my post or the boss’ll kill me. This really hurts, and there’s blood.” The man seemed quite concerned “But it’s none of your business.” He recovered himself from his worry and tried to be more of a guard.

“Do you know who I am?” John asked.

“Of course.” The man seemed confused now.

“Then you’ll know I’m a doctor. If you’re cut and it’s from an old nail then you need that cleaned up or looked at, at least. I just want to help, it’s part of my Hippocratic oath to help whomever I can.” John said, acting on instinct, not the instinct to help, now he felt a slight tugging at the thought of escape.

“No, I can’t let you look without opening the door, and I’m not stupid, mate.” The man said.

“Look, you’re in pain, you’re bleeding, and as you said, your boss will not be happy if you leave your post. Your only two options are to stand there with a bloody hand and without my help, or you can open the door and let me check you’re alright. Things like that can get infected quickly. And remember, you’ve got a gun, I am unarmed, for me to make an escape attempt would be incredibly stupid, don’t you think?” John said, his ear almost pressed to the door in hope.

The man was silent for a few moments as he thought.

“Fine, but if you try anything then I have an allowance to shoot you, do you understand?” the man asked.

“Completely.” John said, almost sweetly.

John took a step backwards and heard the key turning in the lock, the door opened and the first thing he saw was the point of a gun, the man edged into the room, he was Indian, young, had short spiky hair, sharp features, sturdy brown eyes, and quite a few muscles. He was dressed in black, had a holster for a hand-gun on his belt, held the large gun in his healthy hand, and once he saw that John had his hands up in a surrender position, he let the gun slowly come down to his side.

John smiled politely and reached out a hand to the man’s hand that had blood pooling in the palm.

The man let John take his hand and inspect it.

“What’s your name?” John asked.

“Arav. Erm… is there anything you can do? I don’t need to go and find a medic or something?” Arav queried.

“I am a medic.” John said.

“I know, but I mean a person with supplies.” Arav explained.

“Oh, don’t worry. It seems clean, you just need to wrap it in something to stop the blood flow.” John said, then moved over to his bed, picked up a sheet and teared a strip.

“Oh, that’s not necessary…” Arav said.

“It’s fine.”

Arav deflated and let John start to wrap his hand in the cloth, while Arav intently watched the wrapping of his hand, John’s eyes flickered from Arav’s face to the slightly open door, to the escape. John may not be Sherlock Holmes, but John Watson was a Captain, a strategic and quick-thinking soldier. All he had to do was think.

It happened fast, as John had planned, he quickly twisted Arav’s wrist until he felt it break, then he yanked at his wrist, pulling the man forward, as Arav fell forward John snapped his knee up, hitting Arav’s temple hard. Arav made a noise of pain then went limp and John slowly lowered him to the floor, John checked the man over with his eyes and saw he was fine-it was a shame, Arav had seemed decent, though terribly naïve.

John took his hand gun and walked away from the unconscious man.

John felt his heart beating fast, thumping in his chest as he slowly left the room, he didn’t know the layout of where he was. He could be underground, aboveground, in… goodness, he could be in Australia for all he knew, though he did strongly feel he was still in England.

He made his way down the corridor.

“Right, Arav, you are relieved.” A woman came around the corner, wearing the same black uniform as Arav had, her hair was tied up in a tight bun and she carried a bigger gun than John. Why did he take the handgun and not the bigger one?

Her eyes widened as she saw him, but she was quick to react, she put a hand to her radio and said “CODE RED!” and then she started running, just as John did. She chased him, gaining quickly. But John felt very lucky that he was still fit, he tried to keep a safe distance from her, but soon he heard footsteps from the other end of the corridor, and five people in black uniforms rounded the corner, all pointing guns at him, John looked between both the lady and the group of guards then took his chances and ran towards the lady, hoping to dodge around her.

Suddenly he felt a very sharp pain in his back, he gasped and stopped, then tried to reach for whatever was on his back, he felt some sort of injector… like a needle, and he pulled it out quickly and looked at it. He’d been drugged, like one of those elephants running and zoo keepers shooting sedative darts at them.

He felt everything blurring but he tried to shake himself out of it.

“Get him, he’s going down.” A man shouted as John tumbled and put his hand against a wall to keep from falling.

“No! Y…you can’t do this…” John said, he heard his voice and it sounded slurred and weak.

Nobody said anything back and John felt like crying. He didn’t want this, this was nothing to do with him… he was just a pawn in this game of chess… he wanted to go home.

And with that last thought he fell into blackness, his last feeling was of the cold wall that he slid down.

* * *

 

John woke up blearily, trying to lift his weak head but it kept flopping back onto whatever he was lying on. It was… it was rock, he was lying on the floor. He could smell the familiar boring smell of the room he had been imprisoned in.

“That was not a very clever move, Doctor Watson.” He heard a voice above him. John, with all of his effort, opened his eyes and saw Daniel, the boss who was keeping him here, the man was crouched beside John.

“Fuck you.” John spat out as he gained more strength by the second.

“Ooh,” Daniel tutted and said “You see, John, I don’t take kindly to verbal insults.”

“I don’t take kindly to being imprisoned. So I guess we’re both going to have to suck it up, right?” John slurred and tried to sit up, trying to gain some dignity and power.

“Well that’s where you’re wrong, Doctor Watson. You see, the difference between us is that I don’t have to suck it up.” Daniel stood up and looked down at John, considering something, then he simply said “Have your fun, boys. Just try to avoid the head, we don’t want any accidents like with Jones.”

Daniel turned on his heel and strode out.

John suddenly noticed four men, rather large men, not guards… they weren’t wearing the right clothes. They wore suits… like business men? John sighed, not caring to think about who they were, he just cared that they were looking at him rather maliciously.

“No…” John said, trying to stand up but one launched himself forward and grabbed John by his shoulders and started ramming his knee into John’s abdomen.

John cried out and tried to push the man off of him but he was outnumbered as the other three closed in and soon all he felt was consistent pain, his legs, his back, his torso and chest, his arms, his neck too. With one final shout for someone to help John fell into blackness, finding relief in unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Please comment! :)


	6. Rescue mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft works out what's going on.

“Daniel Bate…” Mycroft mumbled to himself.

“Who?” Sherlock’s gaze snapped to his brother who was sat beside him at the table.

“He’s a… rather influential man in the economy. Wealthy, but not from his money, it’s dirty money. Theft made legal by idiotic loopholes. I’ve been trying to get him arrested for over two years, it seems he has snapped and decided to do something about me.” Mycroft explained.

“How can you know it’s him?” Lestrade queried.

“A…a month ago he said he’d take Sherlock if I didn’t get off of his back. Perhaps… perhaps he intended to take Sherlock but took John by mistake yesterday. It’s the only likely option. He promised to… one moment.” Mycroft paused and tapped away at the computer quickly then stood up and seemed to be at peace with something and furious at the same time “The reason you were in that building… to try to find the stolen money, the man who stole the money works under the employment of Daniel Bate as a part-time bodyguard.”

“Is there a likely candidate of a building John is being kept in?” Sherlock asked, scowling at the idea of John being taken by accident when it was meant to be him. The imbeciles had put John at risk because they had misidentified him. The strange idea of guilt crept into his mind, perhaps he had put John at risk? Sherlock shoved the idea away, it wouldn’t help him find John.

“Well, this man is a show off, and would want John somewhere he could easily access him. I’d say his home would be a viable option-it has the highest security, a lot of room, yes… I think that’s where he’s gone.” Mycroft said, almost to himself.

“Then we need to think of how to get in there and get John.”  Sherlock looked at Mycroft with such intensity that Mycroft knew that right now, for the first time in a long time, his little brother was relying on him.

* * *

 

John was curled in on himself, in pain and also incredibly bored. He had nothing to do and all he could think about was getting out of here and seeing Sherlock again. And Mycroft too. Curiously John had been thinking of Mycroft Holmes more and more these days, whenever he saw Mycroft he wanted to see him again sooner. John sighed, he’d tried to ignore the thoughts and feelings, but he may as well address them while he has nothing better to do.

He honestly didn’t know what he was going to do about it. He knew it wasn’t friendship he craved with Mycroft, he had friendship with Sherlock and Lestrade and other people, and it was a different feeling. No, he knew what he wanted with Mycroft, he wanted him. He wanted that tall, powerful, sarcastic, intelligent, smart, quiet man. The thing that differed between the Holmes brothers was that Sherlock was a storm, he was brilliant and incredible and scary and dangerous, and he was all over the place. But Mycroft was stable and constant and dangerous and there and John liked that.

He felt the same for Mycroft as he did for previous partners. Though he’d been with women mostly, he had been with a few men in his younger years and only with Mycroft did he have strong feelings, they were stronger than they’d been with any woman or man in John’s past.

But would Mycroft be interested in John? He was just Sherlock’s… keeper, really. That’s how John knew Mycroft viewed him, as his brother’s keeper. Why would he be attracted to John?

* * *

 

Sherlock and Mycroft sat side-by-side in the front of the land rover, Sherlock was driving and Mycroft was ensuring the satnav kept them on-route. Lestrade and an armed guard sat in the back. They had five vans following them, filled with armed and trained guards ordered to enter after Mycroft, Sherlock, and Lestrade, and to not attack unless anybody fights.

Sherlock and Mycroft themselves were armed with hand guns, Mycroft knew that Daniel Bate had spent money on weapons, and more than he needed.

When they pulled up Mycroft got out of the car and quickly entered the code into the gate, it wasn’t difficult to figure out. They weren’t going to be all secretive, they were going to walk in there and retrieve John. Mycroft commonly dealt with these people, and blatant power-plays were often the best idea, Daniel was nothing but scum, he had very little power in comparison to Mycroft.

The door opened and Sherlock, Mycroft, and Lestrade walked in, their guns in their hands but not pointing out yet. The house was huge, beautifully furnished, obviously expensive.

They walked through the house and finally bumped into someone in the living room.

“Ah, Mycroft, I wondered when you would finally turn up.” Daniel sneered.

“Bate.” Mycroft seethed.

Lestrade quietly sent the text to their back-up waiting outside to wait.

“I’m surprised at the turn-up, but then again, you always do surprise me.” Daniel grinned and brought his gun out of his pocket as insurance rather than to start the fight.

“Give John back.” Sherlock ordered.

“Oh John! Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Daniel said in an almost pantomime manner. Silence met all of their ears, everyone looked around nervously, “Oh, I don’t think he wants to come out… or maybe he’s a bit caught up right now…” Daniel smirked.

“What have you done to him?” Mycroft asked, cocking his gun and pointing it right at the lounging man, who sat on his comfortable sofa arrogantly.

“I haven’t touched a hair on his head… my boys and girls, on the other hand…” Daniel left the sentence up to Mycroft and Sherlock’s imaginations to figure out.

Sherlock turned to look at his brother “Go and get John, I will deal with him, brother.”

Mycroft was a little surprised that Sherlock didn’t want to be the first to rescue and see John, but after a moment of confusion he realised that Sherlock’s fury was peeking and all he wanted to do was sort out Daniel Bate.

Mycroft nodded and with a sinister smile to Daniel he left, happy that Lestrade was with his brother to look after him. He nodded at Lestrade on the way out and the man sent another text to their back-up to come in.

As Mycroft made it to the front door their back-up was filing in quietly, their guns drawn.

“Five of you only, follow me. The rest, leave the room to our left and search the rest of the house for guards.” Mycroft ordered.

Two women and three men followed Mycroft through the house until they came to a plain door that Mycroft knew led to the basement. He walked down the stairs, gun drawn, and started walking around the maze of corridors underneath the house, they were lit with a harsh and clinical light. This was obviously a place Daniel kept things he shouldn’t have, weapons, people. Mycroft made a mental note to ensure the whole house was searched from top to bottom once the situation at hand was over.

Mycroft opened many doors along the corridors, often finding blank rooms or rooms filled with guns and weapons on display, one time he opened a door to find a gym. But right now it was a very empty basement with no sign to John being here.

He finally rounded a corridor and found two people, a man and a woman, dressed in black and guarding a door.

He strode toward them and they immediately lifted their guns threateningly “Put them down, fools, you are outnumbered.” Mycroft dismissed them. They seemed confused as to what to do but finally stood back and put their hands up in surrender.

Mycroft pushed past them and opened the door to the room he knew John was in. He could feel it. He felt anticipation and dread, what state would John be in?

He found the lights on and two men in the room. One was stood over a body, the body… the body was John. Mycroft charged forward, grabbed the man who had just kicked John’s immobile body and he slammed the butt of his gun into the man’s temple, knocking him unconscious and chucking his body to the side.

Mycroft rushed over to John’s prone form, he lay on his side, his face seemed untouched, but he had a look of pain on his sleeping features. But the rest of him… he wore only a shirt and jeans and socks, there was blood all over his shirt, bruises on his neck, and his trousers had blood in spots. Mycroft was sure that if John were naked he would be covered in bruises.

“John…” Mycroft called out and knelt beside the man. He stroked a hand through the man’s sweaty hair.

John mumbled something.

“John!” Mycroft said more loudly, trying to rouse the man.

John slowly flickered his eyes open and groaned in pain. Mycroft was sure that if John had the energy he would scream, but a groan was all he could manage.

“John, where does it hurt? It’s me, Mycroft, I’m here now.” He asked urgently, needing to check John’s back wasn’t in pain so he could lift him without causing damage.

“Ev…e…we…r…” John rasped out, barely remaining lucid.

“Your back or your neck? Any serious pain there?” Mycroft asked loudly.

“No…” John said tiredly.

“Alright. Stay with me, John.” Mycroft urged, he felt as if he wanted to cry, which was a very foreign feeling to him. John was always so strong… now he could barely say a word.

Mycroft held back his tears and slipped his hands under John’s shoulders and knees and lifted him into his arms, cradling the smaller man. John groaned and Mycroft stood up, he looked to the door where their back-up waited patiently.

Mycroft looked down at John and John stared right back, in hope… he looked so… serene. Mycroft gave John a comforting smile and John gave a small smile back and said something incoherent then his eyes closed and he fell unconscious once more.

Worry hit Mycroft like a ton of bricks as he could hear John’s breathing echo around the room. He was thankful John was breathing… beyond thankful… but the breathing was ragged and uneven.

He ran through the door as fast as he could, he could thankfully hear one of his men calling for the medic they brought to ready themselves.

Mycroft ran upstairs and through the living room to find Daniel Bate squirming around on the floor with a bullet in his foot and a broken nose. One of their women was handcuffing him and soon he’d be in jail. Sherlock stood over him with a nasty and satisfied smile on his face. But as soon as he heard the strange breathing he looked up and to his brother and the man in his arms and his face changed from satisfaction to worry.

“John! Is he okay?” Sherlock asked.

Mycroft kept walking quickly as he spoke “He’s been beaten… they avoided the face… probably to ensure it was unlikely he would die from a misplaced kick… he’s not well, he needs a hospital.” Mycroft said, his voice breaking at the end.

Mycroft, Sherlock and Lestrade all walked quickly towards their vehicles, the medic was stood by the largest van where they had stored a stretcher and supplies in case of a situation such as this. The door of the van was held open for Mycroft and he quickly lay John down on the stretcher, the man’s breathing had worsened and his face looked to be in severe pain.

The medic quickly got to work while John’s three friends sat at the side, the van rushed through the streets, jerkily in it’s speed and urgency. The medic put an oxygen mask on John and started ripping off his shirt, trying to have a look at his chest and abdomen. It was covered in cuts and blood and bruises.

Mycroft grabbed onto Sherlock’s arm in worry. Sherlock didn’t shrug him off, they just sat in silence and offered one another a source of comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! Thank you!


	7. Hospital discussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the title says, discussions at a hospital.  
> Warning: One use of bad language (which is a sexual reference).  
> Also: I do not study medical things at all, so sorry if I get anything wrong!

Mycroft and Sherlock paced around the waiting room of the hospital, both anxious for news on John. The last they saw of his was being wheeled down a corridor by Doctors, by the sound coming from the Doctors it didn’t look great.

It was eight hours later when finally news came. A doctor came out, scrubs on, blood on his chest area.

Sherlock and Mycroft were surprisingly quiet, just waited for the man to explain what was going on.

“Doctor Watson is stable, we managed to patch him up. Unfortunately complications arose when we discovered he had internal bleeding but we sorted that out. He’s been through quite a big operation to try and stop the bleed, we are hopeful that it was successful. He is on a lot of pain medication at the moment, and he is still sedated and it is unlikely that he will wake up for a while, though you may see him. We have installed two chairs and a camp bed in his private room for you both. We are hopeful that Doctor Watson will make a full recovery but it is too early to tell if there will be any further complications.” The Doctor explained.

“Thank you.” Sherlock nodded and he and Mycroft made their way to John’s private room.

They both sat on the chairs on either side of John’s bed. John himself looked absolutely tiny in the large bed. He had tubes and wires all around him, monitoring him and stabilising him. The steady heart beep was very comforting to the Holmes’.

Sherlock sat quietly beside his best friend, watching him breathe, feeling both worried for him but also thoroughly relieved that the Doctors were hopeful.

Mycroft seemed oddly out of character, he wasn’t sat straight in his chair, he was curled up, staring at John intently with his arms wrapped around his legs and his chin wresting on his knees. Sherlock took a moment to stare at his brother then he said “You can hold his hand.”

Mycroft looked at Sherlock, shocked.

“I am not an idiot, Mycroft.” Sherlock stated.

“I… I know.” Mycroft stammered.

“You are attracted to John?” Sherlock queried.

“Yes… but it is irrelevant. He doesn’t and can’t feel the same way… and anyway, he’s yours.” Mycroft said sadly.

“He is not mine, Mycroft. Firstly, he is not property… or a prize. And secondly, he may be my best friend but that is the only state in which he is mine. He is not my lover.” Sherlock said sharply.

“I know… I know he isn’t property… I just… you are so possessive sometimes, and you’ve never had a friend before. I didn’t wish to ruin what you have.” Mycroft sighed.

“John is my best friend. As long as he stays that way I wouldn’t mind you and he becoming… you know. John deserves something I can never give him.” Sherlock said, looking down at his friend with a small smile.

“John desires you?” Mycroft asked, his heart sinking.

“No. I am just saying… I can give John friendship, and the type of love that comes with that. I can give him support and care and adventure too. But I cannot give him the love and sex that a lot of human beings seem to require.” Sherlock explained.

“Oh. But… he isn’t gay. So I don’t even know why we are discussing this. And we don’t know if he even sees me as more than your brother.” Mycroft said.

Sherlock couldn’t help it, he laughed.

“Why are you… stop it! This actually means a lot to me so stop laughing at me!” Mycroft scowled, thoroughly offended.

Sherlock calmed down “Oh, brother… I never thought you were truly that stupid. He is not gay, you are correct. But he _is_ bisexual.”

Mycroft’s jaw dropped “But he is… he always says he isn’t gay…”

“That is because people continuously insinuate that he and I are together and it annoys him because we are just friends. He doesn’t enjoy lying to people, so he says he isn’t gay, which isn’t a complete lie. He just never tells the whole truth.” Sherlock explained.

“Then… how do you know?”

“I looked through some of his old photo albums-by the way, he was a very adorable child, much like he is now, always seemed to want to play and have fun. But anyway, in his early twenties he had a boyfriend, a rather attractive man. They seemed very besotted with one another. Lots of pictures of kissing and such.” Sherlock had a slight look of distain on his face from the memory of seeing his friend snogging this other man quite heatedly.

“So he… he could… but he wouldn’t. He’s shown no interest in me. Ever.” Mycroft didn’t want to entertain the idea… it would hurt too much.

“I don’t think that’s quite true. I had never noticed it before, I do not have much of an interest in John’s love-life. However, it seems that I recall he always seemed quite delighted to see you. Not overtly so, but he enjoys your company, and he always watches you when you’re there. He also blushes a lot more around you. I am unsure as to whether he has noticed it, but I think perhaps he does have feelings for you.” Sherlock said.

Mycroft stared down at John for a moment then back at his brother “Well… I think we must wait for him to awaken and not be so drugged up for our answer.”

Something settled inside Mycroft, like he knew now that there was a chance, and he finally knew that he was going to get an answer to the question that had troubled him for so long.

* * *

 

John kept waking up after being asleep for twelve hours, but he was always incoherent and kept saying the strangest things, mumbling about whatever he was dreaming of. The doctors and nurses monitored his progress closely and he seemed to do nothing but improve. They were happy he kept waking up, showing he was gaining strength.

When John finally awoke and was coherent he had been out of surgery for twenty four hours.

He groaned and flickered open his eyes, he looked around tiredly and found his eyes met those of Mycroft Holmes.

“’Ello?” John said hoarsely.

“Hello.” Mycroft smiled at the man.

“Ouch.” John stated.

“Yes, I imagine you are in a bit of pain.” Mycroft nodded.

Sherlock walked in with two cups of coffee and said “Ahh, up again, John? What delightful thoughts would you like to share with us this time? Elephants riding bicycles? How a female’s breast feels in your hand?”

John looked over to his friend with wide eyes and a red face “Huh? I said what? Huh?” he asked, his voice hoarse and dry. Luckily he could speak freely as his oxygen mask was taken away the last time he woke up when he started crying because it was irritating him and the doctors had said he could breathe fine.

“Ah, a little more coherent, I see. Well, my friend, you keep telling us some rather either obscure or explicit stories. I have never seen my brother blush so much before, so thank you for that, I particularly enjoyed his reaction to your story of your “absolute favourite ever” way to be finger-fucked.

John groaned “Oh God…” he moaned.

“Not to worry. So, shall we call your Doctor?” Sherlock suggested.

Fifteen minutes later the Doctor had proclaimed John coherent and improving.

Once the Doctor left Sherlock stared at his brother imploringly then said “I shall go to the toilet now. John, you must have a nice chat with my brother, he has something he wishes to tell you and ask you.”

Once Sherlock left John stared at Mycroft and said “Before you say anything… can I just say thank you… I remember you getting me out of that… hell. Thank you.”

“You are more than welcome. There is really no need to thank me. You must thank my mother though, she gave Sherlock and I a metaphorical kick up the bottoms to put our feud behind us to work together and find you, and due to that we were able to save you in time.” Mycroft smiled gently. He could feel his heart racing in anticipation of revealing his feelings to John. And also, the way John was staring at Mycroft… Mycroft felt so special. John had such beautiful eyes, Mycroft felt privileged to be gazed at by them.

“I shall thank your mum, I promise.” John grimaced slightly.

“Are you in pain?” Mycroft asked quickly.

“Just a twinge. Trust me, they have me on enough painkillers that what was probably a stab of pain felt like a twinge.” John smiled comfortingly.

“Okay. John, may I ask, just as an assurance, that you feel all there… mentally?” Mycroft asked.

“I feel fine. I’ve been sleeping for so long that they took me off any medicine that could be hallucinogenic by the time I woke up, I’m here.” John smiled.

“Good… good. John, what I ask may come as a surprise to you… and I’d like you to think about your answer carefully because this is very important… well, to me it is.” Mycroft said.

“Okay, I will. Just ask away.” John said kindly.

“Erm… I have… certain feelings for you. Feelings of love and attraction. And I wondered whether you reciprocated those feelings and we could start a romantic and sexual relationship?” Mycroft asked, he felt his heart thudding.

John had a startled look about him, then he looked away from Mycroft and seemed to think about it “You see… I know what I want to say. But as you said, this is important… this affects a lot. Not just us but Sherlock too… you see, Mycroft, he is my best friend, I don’t want to do anything that could make him uncomfortable.” John explained his thoughts.

“I appreciate your thoughts concerning my brother. He is important in this, I do not wish to take you away from him, not at all. But Sherlock and I did have a conversation concerning this before you awoke, he said he supports us, if we wish to engage in a relationship.” Mycroft assured John.

“Okay… well, I have feelings for you too. I mean, I thought about it when I was in that… room… I wanted to get out and see you again and hold you and be with you and… yes, I would very much like to be with you, Mycroft, in every sense of the word.” John finally decided with a smile.

“Really?” Mycroft asked hopefully.

“Absolutely. You’re… everything I want and need.” John grinned.

Mycroft couldn’t contain his happiness, his smile was large and John chuckled, happy to finally see such a free expression from Mycroft.

“So… shall we take this slow? Perhaps go for a date when I’m out of this place?” John suggested.

Mycroft nodded “Of course, whatever pace you wish to go at, I am fine with it. This is an important thing, and hopefully a life-long thing. I wish for this to work so I believe taking it at a decent pace would be a good idea.” He said.

John nodded “I agree.”

Mycroft looked down at John’s hand which lay limply at his side. John saw where Mycroft was gazing at and he wiggled his fingers “I don’t bite, you know. I said I wanted to go slow, but I’m pretty sure hand-holding isn’t fast.” John chuckled.

Mycroft huffed a laugh at John’s humour and slowly took John’s hand, entwining their fingers. Mycroft breathed carefully, in awe of this… he was holding John’s hand!

John gave Mycroft’s hand a squeeze then brought it up to his face and pressed a kiss to the man’s hand.

Mycroft blushed.

At that moment Sherlock entered and took in their situation “Ah, so you’re together then?”

“Obviously.” John imitated Sherlock’s favourite line and shared a smile with his friend at the joke.

“Good. Well, I have some rules. If you are in 221B together and I am there I require that you keep any lovey-dovey things to a minimum, I do not wish to see my brother nor my best friend engaging in what I believe is called “tonsil-tennis”. If you are to engage in such activities I ask that you use your room, John. If I am not in 221B and you are doing such things in the living room or kitchen or any other room I use, I ask you to clean up after and perhaps spray the room. As you are aware, I use my sense of smell in my work and I know what it smells like when someone has just had sex.” Both John and Mycroft were blushing a bright red and had wide eyes, “I also request that if I am in need of John’s assistance on a case that your relationship doesn’t affect our work life.”

John and Mycroft weren’t too sure how to respond at first so John finally cleared his throat and said “We can… sure… yeah, got the rules…”.

Sherlock nodded in satisfaction and sat back in his seat and said “So, when can we get out of this dreadful place?”

“Well I’ll be in here for a while.” John pointed out.

“And I shall stay with him.” Mycroft said proudly.

“Aww, really? You’ll do that for me?” John asked him, happiness shining through his eyes.

“Of course. I do not wish for you to be lonely.” Mycroft nodded.

After a noise of protest at the scene before him from Sherlock, John turned back to his friend and said “But you’re welcome to go home if you want to.”

“Hmm… I shall return home this evening but come back tomorrow with some things for you from home.” Sherlock said.

“Aww, thanks! Now, tell me what the fuck happened to that Daniel Bate guy and what went on with that whole situation. I’d like to know why I was kidnapped.” John demanded.

After a thorough explanation from Sherlock and Mycroft John was quite satisfied, glad the man was behind bars and slightly miffed that he hadn’t got the change to shoot him like Sherlock had.


	8. 3 Months Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's three months on, where are John and Mycroft now?

**[3 months later]**

Mycroft awoke early in the morning, feeling warm and content, the duvet surrounding him and the warmth of another body right behind him. It was a frequent happening now to wake up wrapped up in the arms of John Watson. Mycroft gave a gentle smile and placed his hands on top of the hands that were settled on his waist.

“I was wondering when you were going to wake up.” John said quietly into Mycroft’s ear.

“Mmm… what time is it?”

“Not time to leave for work.” John said gently, kissing the back of his neck gently. Mycroft smiled, enjoying the feeling.

“I like your bedroom, John.” Mycroft commented.

“Thank you… I think it’s pretty plain, myself, but I’m glad you like it… well, you do spend enough time in it.” John added.

Mycroft chuckled “Oh, definitely, many enjoyable evenings and nights.”

John smiled “So… fancy spending all morning in bed with me, Mr Holmes?”

Mycroft grimaced “Oh, please don’t call me that. Firstly, it makes me sound old, like my father. And secondly, Sherlock is also ‘Mr Holmes’… just don’t.”

John chuckled “Alright, picky.”

Mycroft huffed a laugh and mumbled a “sorry”.

They quietened and John gently stroked his fingers back and forth across Mycroft’s naked waist, Mycroft enjoyed the sensation and could almost hear John’s brain working, he liked to listen to John thinking, it was very interesting.

Their morning was thoroughly interrupted when a pouncing man-child came into their room looking manic, opening the wardrobe and chucking clothes on the bed. This pouncing man-child was Sherlock Holmes.

Mycroft and John both pulled the duvet over their shoulders, trying to ensure no loss of dignity.

“Hurry up, John, we have a case. Triple murder all in one night, just scrumptious!” Sherlock exclaimed, then held out two pairs of socks and said “Green or Blue… blue will go best with those trousers.” Then he chucked the blue socks onto the bed and smiled down at John and his brother.

“Sherlock, get out!” Mycroft shouted indignantly.

Sherlock’s brain seemed to finally pick up on the obvious and he grimaced and said “Ugh… well, John, will you come with me?” he avoided his brother’s eyes.

“Umm… do you really need me?” John asked “It’s just… I kind of wanted to spend some time with Mycroft.”

“Oh. Well you just spent a whole evening and night with my brother, is that not a sufficient amount of time for you both?” Sherlock frowned, confused.

“It’s fine, it’s just… we just wanted a lazy morning.” John said awkwardly, trying to explain.

“Umm… well…” Sherlock obviously didn’t know how to respond.

“Go with him.” Mycroft decided, turning around to look at his partner.

“Really? You don’t mind?” John asked, he had been so torn before, should he spend the morning with his boyfriend or go on a case with Sherlock?

“Of course not. I have plenty of things to be getting on with. We did spend a lot of time together last night and such. And I know how much you enjoy cases.” Mycroft smiled gently.

“Great!” John sat up and was about to climb out of bed when he looked up expectantly at Sherlock who looked at him, confused as to what he wanted.

“Get out, I need to get dressed.” John gestured to the door.

“Oh.” Sherlock nodded and left briskly.

“You’re the best.” John said, looking down at Mycroft who was now sat up against a bunch of pillows, the man looked pretty smug.

“I know.” Mycroft smirked.

John pulled on his trousers, shirt, and a jumper then went over to Mycroft, pressed a kiss to his lips that lingered then with one more peck he said “Gotta go, I’ll miss you!” John made his way to the door, waving cutely.

“I shall miss you too.” Mycroft nodded.

“Send me flirty texts.” John winked.

“Always!” Mycroft chuckled as John left and jogged down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the fic, Thank you all for your support of this fic through kudos, comments, and such! I appreciate it! And I hope you've enjoyed it! Thanks!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thank you for reading and please comment!


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